


To make a mark

by galaxylove



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: F/F, Kind of a Soulmate AU?, just samo being samo, nah not really, not a soulmate au but it's talks about soulmates so maybe, oh it's just fluff, this is dumb but it's fluffy so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 21:31:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17885561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galaxylove/pseuds/galaxylove
Summary: Sana gave Momo a scar when they were kids and even to this day, she won't stop calling it her soulmate mark.And that was cool and funny and everything, until Momo maybe realised that she liked Sana a lot more than before.





	To make a mark

**Author's Note:**

> oomf told me i hit 1k on twitter and apparently that's something to celebrate, oomf also then proceeded to hold me at gunpoint (no exaggeration, this totally happened) and twisted my arm to release this oneshot :'( anyway, this stemmed from a dumb twitter conversation like months ago where junie and someone ( wish i could remember) spoke about sana accidentally pushing momo off the swing set as kids and giving momo a scar

 

   Momo hears Sana before she sees her; rushed, high pitched apologies spilling out hurriedly to whoever she’d bumped into at the front door. There's no point in turning around to see, not when she can hear rapid footsteps on the smooth tiles as her best friend tries not to _totally_ make it obvious that she wasn't late to their usual Thursday hangout.

 

  She's more than used to this. Accounts for the lateness, actually. She's argued a million times before that they can just push their weekly milkshake date an hour back so Sana can make it in time after practice, but _noooooo._ She gets hit with those big eyes, arms folded defiantly and a surly pout to boot, and what can she do except sigh and give in?

 

  She takes a thick sip of her shake, pretending that she likes the taste as Sana slides into the booth opposite her with a teasing grin.

 

  “Hey soulmate.” She coos coyly, shoving her tattered old equipment bag to the side and, to her credit, she only sounds slightly out of breath.

 

  Momo rolls her eyes at the familiar term of endearment. “You need to stop calling me that.”

 

  “Why?” Sana gasps in faux affront, pout already coming in to play. “It’s true.”

 

  “I mean maybe,” Momo sighs again, already used to the accompanying flutter in her tummy whenever this topic came up.

 

  (Which was often. Like, three times a day at least, often.)

 

  “But not for the reasons you think.”

 

  Sana smiles wider. A different sort of smile from before; confident, far more assured and used to getting her own way than should be right.

 

  “I think it's cute, you're the only person in the world with a mark like that.”

 

  “ _Sanaaa,_ ” There was exasperation bleeding through into her voice already, “I-”

 

  “Lovingly handcrafted by yours truly.” The other girl cuts her off, leaning forward across the table to take a sip of Momo's shake despite the untouched glass sitting patiently in front of her. Her face crumples up as soon as the taste hits her tongue, sitting back in disgust and wiping at her mouth.

 

  “You got banana?”

 

  Momo grins. “Maybe I didn’t want someone stealing half of my shake for once.”

 

  Sana stares at her incredulously. Pulls her glasses slightly down the bridge of her nose and squints.

 

  “You don't even _like_ banana.”

 

  Her feet shuffle guiltily under the table. She goes to take a sip, _just_ to prove a point but stops before her lips touch the straw. Sana smiles at her kindly.

 

  “Wanna share?”

 

  There's not the slightest hint of surprise when a strawberry pink milkshake gets shoved under her nose.

 

  “ _Yeah, I Guess.”_ Momo grumbles into her collar, head turned to the side so she doesn't have to see Sana's infuriatingly smug grin. She takes a long and heavily resented slurp of the shake, trying not to look _too_ satisfied at the taste - lest she embolden Sana's ego trip even further.

 

  A second straw gets shoved into the glass, wiped clean of banana residue and pretty pink lips coming to wrap around the tip barely a moment later. A bit of milkshake gets stuck in Momo’s throat at the sudden proximity, at the fact that Sana's face is close enough to bump her nose against her cheek when she turns, but mostly at the fact that those pretty pink lips are still turned up in a wicked smirk even around the straw.

 

  And of _course_ she's just waiting for her to look up and make eye contact. With those big, ridiculously captivating eyes that Momo's gotten lost in too many times to count. Eyes that could make Momo do anything and everything even if she put up her best defences.

 

  It's not fair, really.

 

  Sana waggles her eyebrows teasingly. Releases the straw with a pop and a satisfied hum, sinking back down into the chair (and reminding Momo that she could actually take a breath now) with her chin propped up on her hand.

 

  Then again, that whole ‘finally being able to breathe again’ notion might have to be put on hold because Sana's staring at her in a way that Momo can't quite put her finger on.

 

  There's a smile on her face and it's filled with history and memories. Momo can't tell if she's drinking her in, committing features to memory or if she's just being Sana. And by that she means just… being a little nostalgic. And wistful.

 

  “You could cover up the scar you know. If it bothers you.”

  The milkshake gets shoved aside. “I've had it since we were five, Sana. It doesn't bother me in the slightest.”

 

  Sana's smile changes then, quirking up in amusement. “Yes Momo, I know exactly how old we were when you got that scar. It's _almost_ like I was the one who gave it to you.” She teases, leaning back in for another sip of the shake.

 

  There's a vaguely recalled memory of a trip to the park to go play on the swings just outside Momo's House. It's blurry, fragmented; in the way that most memories are, but with the bonus addition of being much too young to remember anything at all, and the warping of other people's recollection of the day. But Momo remembered wanting to go higher. Wanting to go _allllllll_ the way to the very tippy top bar and go all the way around (a prominent legend in the playground at recess - only the coolest kids _ever_ were able to do it) and Sana had been more than happy to comply with Momo’s lifelong dream of doing the coveted loopty loop.

 

  Momo remembers the sky, and the feeling of swinging through the air. Blood pumping (though she was much too young to know what that meant) and her chest filled with laughter that was stolen away just as fast as it came with every swing back down to Earth. And little chubby fingers pushing at her back every time she came back down. And then the sky again, but at a different angle. And then not swinging back down, but sailing forward even more. And there were no fingers on the back of her coat, just a horrified gasp and the resounding _clunk_ of her head smacking into a nearby trash can.

 

  Not her fondest memory, she'll admit.

 

  Probably one of her earliest memories though. Kind of liked that even then, there were bits of Sana flecked in the components that made up the Momo of today. Not that she'd ever say it out loud.

 

  Momo sighs. Leans forward to take a sip from her own straw and knocks her forehead against Sana's as she does, the other girl pulling away with a whine and rubbing at her head with a pout.

 

  “Yeah. Almost.” Sana's still pouting; Momo's just trying to focus on drinking as much of the shake as she can for her own good. “But seriously, it doesn't bother me.”

 

  “Something about it does though.” Sana hums softly, inquisitively. And that's the problem with having pieces of each others design in their blueprints. “Something about the scar. Or the soulmates thing.”

 

  The problem is they both knew each other far, far too well.

 

  Or maybe not as well as they think, considering Momo has yet to do something about the way her chest begins to tighten uncomfortably every time Sana laughs, or how now she's aware of everything Sana does and says. More so than before. More than a best friend would.  

 

  And Sana has yet to notice.

 

  There's a handful of responses running through Momo's mind right now. Her usual ‘play it off’ strategy goes right through the window when Minatozaki Sana is involved, because she calls her out on her bullshit before she even begins it. It's infuriating, but necessary at times (she _is_ exceptionally stubborn) and right now would just be another one of those situations. She _could_ lie, but she was a terrible liar. Absolutely awful - couldn't lie even if her life was in the line. And Sana wouldn't buy it in an instant, so _that_ was ruled out too.

 

  Her leg starts bouncing under the table. The word soulmate is emboldened in red in her thoughts; bright, and flashing, and in the structure of every potential sentence processing its way to sit in her mouth and her impulsiveness takes over.

 

  “What do you think about it?” She blurts out, continuing to correct herself at the contusion on Sana's face. “The concept of a soulmate, I mean.”

 

  A foot hooks around her ankle underneath the booth table, Sana's leg sliding against her own and putting an effective halt to the jitters in her leg. “It would be nice, wouldn't it? Believing that there's someone out there who's your perfect match.”

 

  “You believe in it?”

 

  Sana shrugs indifferently. Pushes her falling glasses back up the slope of her nose. “To an extent, yeah. It'd be naive to believe it in its entirety but… it sounds nice. Fate and destiny and all that stuff,” She waves her hand lazily as she speaks and Momo follows the movement, “It's an easy thing to believe in.”

 

  Momo hums thoughtfully, leaning a little bit more forward over the table. Being close to Sana made her at ease, less nervous; in spite of newly realised feelings, and her stomach trying to crawl its way out of her throat at any given moment. “I guess that makes sense.”

 

  “You don't think the same?” It's a curious question, laced with a tint of surprise and intrigue.

 

  “Having a soulmate _does_ sound nice, but I guess it would be unfair to negate the fact that you’ll have plenty of people you meet throughout your life that are gonna compliment you as a person. And you'll do the same to them, ‘soulmate’ or not.”

 

  Sana grins. “Like us?”

 

  Momo laughs, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, like us.”

 

  Sana nudges her leg with her foot, gesturing with a nod to the half-empty milkshake and Momo slides it across the table. Sana doesn't say anything, and Momo knows there are a thousand other words running through her head and demanding to be said, but it's just a question of whether or not the filter to her mouth is going to withhold all that pressure.

 

  “Because like,” Sana glances up, eyebrow raised in curiosity, “The person I was when I was five was way different to the person I am now.”

 

  “Mmm, you seem the same to me.”

 

  Momo ignores her. “And the person I'm going to be when I'm twenty-five is going to be different to me now too. ”

 

  “I'm sure nothing too drastic will have changed.”

 

  She kicks her under the booth, feels Sana's knee jolt into the table and ignores the indignant squawk that follows. “And like, the people who are gonna compliment me are all going to be dependent on what version of me they meet. And when they meet me. And where they meet me.” She's rambling, but it's hard to stop once she's started and Sana's doing nothing to stop her either. “And what if I was supposed to meet them sooner, or later? What if they could have fit with a future version of myself, but they met thirteen year old me who drank too much chocolate milk for a dare and projectile vomited across half the courtyard?”

 

  The sobriety breaks on both of their faces, despite how sincerely serious Momo was in saying that. Sana giggles loudly, covering her mouth with her hands and glancing around in apology to the other patrons in the parlour.

 

  “If they don't accept you at your milkshake covered worst, then they don't deserve you at your best.”

 

  Momo rolls her eyes, stomach still not settled from how easily she could have made the conversation about her and Sana, and not random strangers in her hypothetical future.

 

  “But besides that,” Sana stretches her hand across the table, fingers unfurling Momo’s and cajoling them to ease into the space between her own, “Every version of you has been nothing but the best.”

 

  “Okay, but how do you _know_ that?”

 

  “Hmm,” Sana leans forward, eyes gleaming behind her lenses with a little bit of mischief. “Call it intuition. Maybe even fate.”

 

  “Oh, you're _so_ lame.”

 

  “Maybe,” Sana shrugs carelessly, thumb swiping along the back of Momo's hand absently. “But it's true. And I've loved every version of you, and I might even love all the future versions too.

 

  Momo pretends like those words didn't knock all the air out of her lungs. “Even when we're old and frail and I have to help you go to the grocery store to buy vegetables?”

 

  “Mm. Especially then.”

 

  Her heart’s somewhere in her stomach and her stomach’s hiding somewhere behind her spleen. Momo feels like her insides have rearranged and realigned everywhere they're not supposed to, and it's all because of Minatozaki Sana. And the potential directions she can take this conversation, and whether or not she says what she really wants to say. If she can build up the courage to-

 

  “What about now?” Sana tilts her head, eyes narrowed slightly as though she knows where this is going, but not really, and Momo decides to just floor it. “The me, now. Do you love this me?”

 

  “Well, I thought that was a given,” That coy smile is back with a vengeance, “Of course I do.”

 

  Momo knows that. Of course she does, but she has to _know..._

 

  “No,” She sits up straighter, other hand reaching out across the table to grab at Sana's free hand in support, “I mean, do you… love me?”

 

  Sana frowns in confusion. “Momo, I already said that.”

 

  “No, like _love_ love-”

 

  “ _Momo.”_ Sana cuts her off firmly, but not unkindly, and the words sort of die in Momo's throat at the tender way Sana is looking at her. “I know what you mean. And you should know that I always mean it when I tell you I love you.”

 

  Momo gapes. Mouth opening and closing in disbelief. “ _Since when?”_

 

“Mm, since forever, I guess. Since you walked into class with some really cool stitches on your forehead and told everyone super proudly that I gave them to you. And then glared at the kids who called me mean and a bully for it.”

 

  “Everyone thought you were a badass for like a week until you cried at that video of the baby pandas.” Momo laughs at the memory, in spite of the anxiousness setting her nerves alight.

 

  “Coolest week of my life.” Sana lets out a dramatic sigh and Momo barely stifles the urge to roll her eyes.

 

  Silence passes between them comfortably, newfound revelations sinking into their chests amidst the background bustle of distant conversation. Momo takes advantage of their conjoined hands, playing with Sana's fingertips and scraping her nail lightly against her palm. Sana turns her hand up against the table to make it easier, watching the lazy figure eights and wonky stars Momo’s tracing into her skin.

 

  “It's something I've always known. Not really something I've ever questioned or asked myself why, I've just… always loved you, I suppose. In every possible sense of the word.”

 

   _Huh._ Momo genuinely didn't know what to say, words tied up somewhere down in her stomach around her kidneys, but she thinks, perhaps that maybe she doesn't have to say anything at all. Not in this moment; not when Sana's looking at her with all the confirmation she's ever wanted painted starkly across her face. She isn't sure how she ever doubted it, with the way Sana's eyes soften when they meet hers. It might be longing that she's recognising. Or even just plaintiff affection, or adoration, but mostly she thinks that she's recognising something she's seen all along.

 

  That Sana's always looked at her like this.

 

  And that that hasn't changed. From the first moment they met with sticky, gluey fingers and a matching set of troublemaker smiles, to right now. Sat at their regular booth on the same day as every week for the past four years, so close they may as well have never gotten that glue off.

 

  Sana has always been unwavering. It was Momo who’d spent all these years trying to catch up.

 

  An idea flashes through Momo’s head.

 

  She pulls away, Sana watching her with unmasked curiosity as she begins rummaging through her backpack, the sound of rustling paper and fingers rifling through sheets filling the silence for a moment. Her other hand still holds Sana's hand flat against the surface of the table, tapping gently at the fleshy pad of her thumb as she fishes around the bottom of her bag for a pen.

 

  She emerges victorious, her best fine liner clutched between her fingers and even giving a celebratory twirl that doesn't result in the pen clattering to the floor for once.

 

  “Stay still.” The quiet murmur is Sana's only warning before Momo leans in, brushing aside the strands of hair that had fallen over her face to press the tip of the pen to Sana's forehead.

 

  Momo has good eyesight, so she doesn't _need_ to lean in as close as she does to trace a faint, black line near Sana's hairline but she does anyway. She can make out every single scratch and dent in the frames of Sana's glasses; Sana herself watching keenly from the corner of her eye, not daring to move even an inch. She takes an extra couple of seconds to admire her handiwork, and maybe a few more to admire the shapes and planes of Sana's face before capping the pen with a loud snap.

 

  “There,” She smiles, tracing slightly underneath the line with a finger so as not to smudge it, “Now we match.”

 

  “You’re _so_ lame,” Sana whispers back, all of the bite taken out of her words at the disbelieving, half-choked laugh that bubbles out after. Her hand reaches up to grab at Momo’s, covering the back of her hand and fingers wrapping around her palm to keep the touch there. “God, You’re _so_ lame!” Another laugh, this one a little wetter than before, and Momo already felt like her heart was going to break out of her chest before but now it's somewhere ten miles high in the stratosphere at the promise of tears pooling along the bottom of Sana's eyelids.

 

  Momo can do little more than watch as she tries to keep herself together, caressing her face with her thumb. Sana keeps her head down for a moment, a quiet sniff escaping before she looks back up at her with a warm smile. She takes Momo’s hand on her cheek, pulling it away just enough so that she can turn to press a lingering kiss against her palm.

 

  “Yeah, you giant dork.” Her hand instinctively goes back to cup Sana's cheek, but her palm’s still tingling as Sana talks. “We always have.”

 

  “I'm just starting to figure that out.” An easy confession, one of many Momo hopes. “Among other thoughts. And feelings.”

 

  “Yeah? What kind of feelings?”

 

  “Good ones. Scary ones. Ones that make my chest feel all funny and like I’m three seconds away from recreating that chocolate milk disaster.” Sana wrinkles her nose in disgusted recollection, and Momo laughs, re-adjusting her glasses for her on her face. “Which is stupid because I've known you since forever and nothing about us has ever been uncertain but…”

 

  “No ‘buts’. No ‘ifs’, or ‘maybes’, ‘or possibly-could-have-ever-should-haves’.” Sana’s voice is soft yet firm, cutting her off gently and with all the confidence in the world dripping off of every word. “You’re the most certain thing in my life, Momo.”

 

  “ _Now_ who’s lame?” Momo teases, tongue between her teeth and lips split in a wide smile. Can't help taking a dig at the other girl even now, and the usual smack on the shoulder in retribution doesn't follow. She gets a well practiced eye roll instead.

 

  Momo has more to say and Sana knows that,  knows her - well enough to not say a word.

 

  “You are too, I think. Well no, I _know.”_ She corrects herself with a slight frown, Sana giving her her utmost attention and affection oozing from her in waves. “You are. I’m sure of that. Sure of this - sure of us.”

 

  Sana hums lightly. “I like the sound of us.”

 

  “Yeah? I think I like it too.” Their hands drop to the table, fingers threading between each others like patchwork on a quilt.

 

  “You think?”

 

  “I don't know…” Momo purses her lips, faking sincerity with a sigh, “A lifetime hasn't been long enough to make fair judgement.”  

 

  Sana tuts under her breath. Gives Momo’s hand a harsh squeeze to make her faux irritation known, even mutters a quiet ‘jerk’ under her breath before clearing her throat with an unsubtle cough. “Thirteen years hasn't been enough?”

 

  “Hmmm. Nah,” Momo pretends to think about it, and can sense Sana's patience wearing thin. It makes her grin just a little bit wider. “I think I need some more time with you. You know, just to make sure.”

 

  A soft ‘oh’ of realisation slips wordlessly out of Sana's mouth at what Momo was doing. She recovers quickly, unable to keep the indisputable glee from her eyes as she speaks. “I’ll give you all the time in the world. You know,” She imitates her perfectly, indifferent tone of voice and everything, “ _Just_ to make sure.”

 

  It shouldn't have taken her this long to realise how well they matched. She knew, but she didn't _know_ ; didn’t fully encompass just how readily Sana fit into every one of the grooves of her haphazard jigsaw piece - every sharp edge and smooth curve, to slot together and make the bigger picture.

 

  To make Sana, and Momo.

 

  And it's hard. To know the worth of a soulmate, or to even believe in the concept at all. Sana's still smiling at her, and the warmth kindles the embers in her chest that had been smoking determinedly since the moment noisy, worn sneakers tapped rapidly across the tiled floor. Her fingers stay tangled loosely against her own, trying to roll up the sleeves of her letterman jacket without letting go of Momo’s hand and her tongue stuck out between her teeth in furious determination as she huffs and puffs.

 

  It's so very Sana. Momo could easily use her own hand to help but she's enjoying this, sitting back and watching with her heart bared to see on the arm of Sana's half rolled sleeves.

 

  Momo doesn't know if she believes in soulmates.

 

  But she knows that she believes in two things.


End file.
